Burn Notice
by iHedge
Summary: Neco Grace is a burn victim. Those muffin pans get her every time, but it was a mysteriously inconspicuous muffin pan that finally does her in. Where does she land? What language does she speak? And, more importantly, who will finish eating the muffins?
1. Grace

_Wait in the fire..._

_And I feel them drown my name_

_So easy to know and forget with this kiss_

_I'm not afraid to go but it goes so slow_

_Grace—Jeff Buckley_

_Tuesday:_ Spent all of today baking muffins and cookies and other baked goods. Good times, except for the burn my arm received when I was taking a pan out of the oven. It's red and it hurts like the dingoes, but I sprayed some burn relief on it. Should be fine soon. At least I have a ton of sweet, fatty things to console me in my malady.

_Wednesday_: Couldn't sleep last night because that burn on my arm was living up to its name; felt like a furnace was flaming on the surface. Too tired and sore and freakin' feverish to go to midweek service, so I'm stuck at home until the Tylenol kicks in. IT'S CHRISTMAS WEEK AND I'M SICK.

_Thursday_: The burn is worse, go figure. I called Dr. P. Stein but all he told me was to take some Tylenol or Advil, drink plenty of liquids, and get my sleep--it's all I've been doing for the past twenty-four hours, and nothing. Nada. In fact, the spot where I was burned is getting WORSE. It's expanded and grown darker, almost a brown color. The veins surrounding it are starting to show through my skin with a deep yellowish color...it's disgusting and disturbing. Can't go to the hospital because I have no insurance and no extra money, and, on top of everything else, my cell phone up and died at two in the morning last night while I was trying to call Mom for home remedies. Ridiculous is what it is. Hmph.

_Friday_: Merry Christmas, but it's anything but merry. In fact, it's ho ho horrible. Pfft. I am reduced to corny jokes, and the burn is BIG. I mean, really big--and it's all veiny and almost like an enormous blackhead. I'd pop it if I weren't afraid of a fountain of black lava-puss splattering all over the remainder of my assorted holiday sweets. Oh, wait... crap. It's PULSING. I think--oh man. Shoulda called the hospital but I think that wha-- what the flamingo is happe

_Later, Friday_: Well. The burn is gone. There's a little hole in the skin there, but no more pulsing black puss. On the other hand, when I last stopped writing, the previously mentioned nasty things pulsed until something straight out of the Sci-Fi channel happened. The burn burst open, covering me in yucky sticky stuff that I won't go into detail about, and I found myself being sucked INTO MY ARM. Don't even ask me how, dear diary, because I'm telling you, I am now in the Twilight Zone.

Lots of darkness, occasionally a sparkle or two somewhere in the distance. Somehow, presumably since I was holding both you and my pen when the Sucky (Ha!) Event happened, I am able to write (while floating in complete darkness) (I think I've acquired magical night vision). I know I'm not dreaming because my dreams usually involve someone from Band of Brothers/Lord of the Rings/Crocodile Dundee which in turn makes them infinitely more pleasant than pulsing puss. Also I can't be dead because--well. I'm just too young and reasonably good looking. Plus, I just took a shower. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and godly people tend to die in nice, quiet ways.

Can't really think of anything else...the terrorists are not nearly this advanced, and Obama couldn't have meant this when he talked about Change...although apparently Yes I Can be physically sucked into my arm...and still emerge with both arms attached to my body.

Good grief. Floating in darkness really loosens up the fingers and thoughts. I think, though, that I'll see if I can sleep. If I lose you, diary, and you somehow make it back to civilization, tell the world that I did my best to represent the human race well.

Good night (Heh..night. Silent night, indeed).

**Author's Note:** Whoo! New story! I am so irregular with updates it's not even funny, but who knows how long my 2010 resolutions will last? No one. No idea who the OC's going to be for…if you have any suggestions or constructive criticism or maybe a story you'd like to pimp, please! Review! Chapter 2 will be up within the week, though. I can promise that.


	2. Soul Meets Body

_And I cannot guess what we'll discover_

_When we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels_

_But I know our filthy hands can wash one another's_

_And not one speck will remain_

_Soul Meets Body—Death Cab for Cutie_

o o o o o

_Saturday? Sunday? Someday_?: Well. This is unexpected. I'm suspended between time and space with my little diary and push-pencil, still in my pajamas, but no longer with a rapidly growing burn mark on my arm.

I traded one predicament for another, it seems.

And now I'm stuck inside my dreams

That turned out to be reality.

Thinking up crappy poetry

Is kind of stupid when I should be

Figuring out my route of entry

And consequently, route of exit.

I wonder if this place has a reliable transit

From here to home,

Because I'm tired of feeling like floating foam.

Eh. Not my best, but not bad for surviving the Sucky Event. So I slept and then I woke up, still clutching my writing utensils. Still dark. Still hardly a sparkle on the horizon. But now I'm bored out of my mind. I've examined my personality and repented for all my sins, repeated every poem I've memorized since second grade, and recited the multiplication table up to twenty-six.

Goodbye, diary. You are starting to bore me, as well. I think I'll draw ON YOUR FACE.

_Later_: You know, you look good with that unicorn on your forehead and the Johnny Wander maw© bird on your finger. If I ever get back to Earth, I'm getting a tattoo of the maw bird and unicorn done over the burn spot. If anyone asks, I'll never tell. Maybe I'll draw a Basilik and use my new night vision to endow it with magical powers that cause other people to grow all vacant-eyed and stony.

_Still Later_: Flux, flux, aeon flux. Fluff. Bunny...plot bunnies. "Oh, plot bunnies, where are thou!?" "In the bushes," cried a sweet voice. A flutter of fluff erupted from the bushes, followed by a freaky Friday in a frou-frou fig/hat and frilly fork-pants. I farted and the balcony collapsed onto my frantic Romeo rabbit. "Hoi, apothecary! No need for that poison." ........SO. BORED.

_Later_: Something interesting, FINALLY. Those sparkles that used to peep out underneath all the darkness began forming one big sparkle a few minutes ago...looks like I'm flying/floating closer to it. Kind of nervous, but kind of glad, too. Screw all this darkness.

_Hours and ages Later_: What is it, a mountain of light?? I've been whizzing toward it steadily for hours already, and it's no bigger...but it's brighter, which is weird because as it got brighter, I started seeing things moving around it, which scares me. If I can see movement while I'm so far away, how big must the things that are moving be?

_Not that much Later_: It's bigger. Much, much bigger. I was whizzing along, quietly minding my own thoughts, when the small bright sparkle-jumble suddenly jumped to gigantic proportions. Now I'm sitting on the edge of the sparkle-thing, which is a city of sorts, and nothing is moving except my pen. Nothing is making a noise except my pen and my lungs.

It's beautiful, though, the sparkle-city. Lots of gold in the buildings (what buildings there are). There are two lights that swing over the city like something from a light show back on Earth, silver and gold. There's an ocean in the distance, I think, and an entire _colony_ of trees. Once I got over the shock of my surroundings (which didn't take long, probably because I'm an idiot and have no idea what is waiting for me over the next hill), I just sat where I landed.

I haven't moved. In fact, I don't even think I could move...this place kind of imposes immobility on a body. I mean, I can stand, and wiggle around, and stretch, but I just feel like I want to stay put...which is imbecilic, because my stomach is roiling and my brain craves sugar.

Hold it. I see a head bobbing over that hill we were talking about earlier. Holy canoli, the head has leaves for hair! That's awesome! Will write later, must go now--I feel like moving at the moment.

o o o o o

The warm rolling curves of the hill broke before my eyes as the leaf-crowned head rose above the hill like Mother Nature herself. Her twig-rimmed eyes bored into me, and I found that, once again, I was held motionless, riveted to the woman's piercing eyes.

She spoke.

"Woman of Earth, why are you here?" I blinked. Was it that obvious? I thought that I looked convincingly androgynous, with my short spiked hair and angular face—not to mention my lack of curves. But then, if you have leaves growing out of your head, you are entitled to special wisdom.

I cleared my throat. "Well, Leaf Lady, I burned my hand making muffins and then I got sucked into a heretofore unknown-of black hole inside my arm, floated through time and space for _ages_, and now I'm here." A few leaves drifted to the ground as the lady shook her head in exasperation.

"Not _how_, girl. _Why_."

"Oh. Um.." My escape muse came through. "I was hoping you could tell me that!" I blinked again, throwing the force of a thousand puppy dog eyes in her direction. She didn't even smile, tough bird. Instead, she crossed her grass-clothed legs and sat down inches from my face.

"Yoouuu must aaanswwwer that yourseeeeelf," she breathed, tracing circle patterns around us with her arms.

"But how can I," I whispered, "when I know nearly nothing about this place, about my own purpose, or even about you?" Asking multiple questions in one sentence is a great stall tactic. The lady leaned back, an amused expression tilting the corners of her cheekbones.

"All you need to know about me for now is my name. This place of wondrous beauty is often called Valinor. We welcome you, and reassure you that discovering your purpose will be easier than you imagine." And with that, the lady extended her arms and legs, saplings easing out from her appendages. They took root in the grass and propelled her into the heavens with their rapid-growing branches.

As the clouds began to devour her with their milky folds, I called up to her,

"But you haven't told me your name!" The saplings-turned-helicopters hummed with laughter and reverberated an answer.

"Yvanna..."

o o o o o

**Author's Note: **Hello! I can't believe it! For once I've done what I promised, even with obstacles like my Comcast box suddenly freezing, my family hogging the computer, a complete lack of words, etc. The only reason I promised a chapter this week is because I had half of it written when I did, so now I make no promises. I have a semi-vague idea of where I'm going, but I can't make up my mind on the OC pairing. Elrond or Finrod?

Have a great new year, whoever you are!


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